


Womanly

by ReoPlusOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Male Character, M/M, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReoPlusOne/pseuds/ReoPlusOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred wrestles with his sexuality — and finally comes up with an idea to make it work with Ivan.  RusAme, NSFW.  Filthy filthy porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Womanly

One night, Alfred asks if Ivan would mind if he wore something a little... different that evening. Though his boyfriend has no idea what he's talking about Alfred has several hidden but very specific 'different things' in mind, the least of which being a pair of red lace panties some hooker had forgotten in his hotel room a long time ago, still with a small stain where she'd gotten wet sucking him off and still smelling of perfume and womanly essence.

It seems out of the blue to Russia but it's been a long time coming for America. He was born and raised on good Christian values, on the Bible and all its words. Arthur used to promise sweets to him if he could be a good boy and recite a new Bible verse every week at Sunday dinner and Alfred blamed his love handles and his ability to quote the majority of the good book today on this practice. But even these days he couldn't so much as stop in a Waffle House without hearing a bunch of old men bumbling on about homosexuals and their filth and why couldn't they just fuck a damn _woman_? Then they wouldn't have any _problems_ , right?

The voices in his head were worse. Since that night in boot camp when he'd first walked in on Francis with some lowly soldier crouched between his legs he'd thought about it almost constantly. Hardly anyone ever spoke of such things but his head screamed from a soapbox, thou shalt not, thou shalt not and it wouldn't shut up for the life of him. Sometimes he cursed Arthur as he pleasured himself for giving him that Bible in English, because the scripture would never leave him alone, never never never -- and rarely did he, could he ever finish after that started. Eventually he got soft, his body refused to do any more, and he rolled over in his bed, miserable and alone and wishing with all his heart that a woman could satisfy him.

It took someone who was even more fucked up than he was to make him happy, Alfred thought as he messily applied red lipstick. Alfred was a naturally insecure person but at least Ivan was and always would be worse. One late night of drinking turned into sex turned little by little into something Al liked more and more and more. A bite, and the voices in his head all went quiet. Ivan thew him up against the hotel window, Alfred's cock shrank against the cold glass and heard a comment in his ear about looking _just like woman da_?

He had orgasm after orgasm that night, almost blacking out after the third. They say that when a repressed person finally unleashes the floodgates terrible and wonderful things can happen. Al only thought of this when he realized he hadn't heard any of the voices' ilk since Ivan had been inside him. After that night he was like a drug. No more shame, no more anxiety, no more fucking voices! Just sex, really _really_ good sex, all the time. On his terms.

It took nearly a decade for the voices to come back. The people in his country were growing more and more angry with him, nearly every interview he was shoved into started with 'do you support gay marriage?' despite the lack of comments he'd been giving on the subject since the seventies. Maybe if he just let the security down just once, he could claim the breach was an accident and they could find him riding Ivan like a rodeo cowboy and all their questions could answer them-fucking-selves. But his boss would be furious with him, knowing him well enough to know accidents like that just didn't happen on Alfred's watch, and lord only knows what sort of fucked up abuse Ivan would face back home.

But in the meantime he was just left trying to patch up this silly little relationship they had going. He hadn't been able to get it up since the first night a few days ago when it had happened: Ivan had had a mouthful of American dick and the sight was so beautiful to behold he relaxed his head back and groaned loudly.

"Faggot," And he heard himself say it, but it took a moment to process it. He thought Ivan might have said it, but his mouth was very, very occupied, and judging from the confused look he was giving him he probably didn't even recognize the word. Alfred couldn't stop himself, then, and neither could Ivan. He just stared at the wall and cried silent tears, mournful as always that such a good thing would have to come to an end.

Sure, they'd tried things. Russia offered to invite Arthur into the bedroom and Alfred had almost thrown up. Who knew how old and wrinkly the bastard's ballsack was by now. Ew.

They'd tried a nice, romantic date beforehand but they just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and had taken a shortcut by a cemetary to see some church protesting at the funeral of a soldier who was apparently gay, judging from the signs. Ivan had had to drag Alfred away by his arms and tie him up at home until he'd finally stopped yelling cuss words.

Finally, with almost nothing left to lose Ivan had brought home some his-and-hers lube bottles, and Alfred had gotten an idea.

So that was where they were left. Alfred had cursed like a sailor when slipping the high heels on, taking a moment to wobble in them on the tile of the bathroom like a newborn colt. As he thought the panties were slightly too small for him, but they only grew smaller when he saw himself. For the first time in a while he was fully erect, the pink head of his cock peering up through the top of the panties, throbbing visibly. He slipped a purposefully short pink nightgown on over it, pulling it down so it was just barely enough to cover him.

As funny as it was to think about, though he wasn't going to be fooling anyone, he definitely felt better about it now and stepped out into the bedroom, where Ivan was waiting for him on the bed, already nude. He looked him up, and down and murmured, "You are beautiful," with that wicked smile. Alfred shuddered with delight and stepped forward once, twice, until he was standing right beside the bed. Lazily (Ivan knew very well how skittish Alfred could be sometimes) his boyfriend sat up, still watching him like he was a delicious looking piece of meat, filet mignon, something he could grab and give a good squeeze. "Lift up the dress like good girl," He drawled, and Alfred knew he could probably speak proper American English if he really put his mind to it but he loved the accent and he knew he kept it just to drive him fucking wild, and obediently he lifted the edge up to expose his belly and everything below. Purple eyes watched him, stared, and Ivan licked his lips. Alfred's body responded with a single pearl of precum appearing at the head of his cock, hopelessly waiting to be licked up.

Ivan wasn't even done telling Alfred to touch himself when he did, groaning loudly as the lace cupped his balls and held them close to his body, and his eyes had hardly been closed at all when Ivan had reached forward to pull the panties down around his knees and slip a tingly finger inside him. He came once then, and Ivan moved to the side just in time for a stream of white to go flying over his shoulder and mess the bedsheets.

America could honestly not make himself stop laughing until Russia murmured "You will be paying for that," against his bellybutton, twisting his fingers sideways and making him twist against them, wanting more of that friction. America got only moments into contemplating how expensive bedsheets could be before he realized he'd be punished for his insolence. A part of him insisted no one punishes America, not since the 1770s, but then Ivan bites that line going horizontal across his cock where his foreskin would be but was never taken away. And he realizes he's going to have to amend that rule.

He gets shoved onto the bed, his ass hanging off the edge and only held up when Russia slips his legs up and over his shoulders, pressing calves tightly against the sides of his neck. The warm chub and muscle of America's thighs touch and an even, natural tan is interrupted by a red cockhead which leaks over his happy trail, making even more mess but he hasn't lost his hard-on yet. Ivan is proud of himself as he lubes up his fingers, instead moving from the position they're currently occupying to lay beside Alfred, making circles all over his skin until his fingers find their destination and he presses a finger inside again. The fingers that could so gently hold a cigarette between always-chapped lips were now gently inside him, and it doesn't hurt nearly like it should.

"You are going to have to relax," He says. The muscles around his fingers contract and conspire to push him out, only cooperating when Ivan kisses Alfred's neck and coaxes a relaxed sigh out of him. His entire body from then on cooperates as well, little by little Ivan eases the tension out of tired muscles. He has the magic touch, Alfred thinks, there is definitely something unbelievable how Ivan can soothe even the worst of fears and insecurities in him. When his heart storms up in a whirlwind of doubt all it takes is a few words in Russian, and the storm dissipates, the last bits of fear massaged out of him. He feels hot, musky breath on his shoulder and smells vodka more than faintly, but in the end he finds comfort in being wrapped up in Russia's arms and tangled around him like he is.

Alfred props his leg up on the bedside dresser, toes curling against the cool, firm wood as Ivan sits up, lifts his other leg up and presses kisses to his ankle. The American gets a biting feeling in his gut, thinking how he should have shaved his legs more thoroughly for the occasion, but Ivan kisses the small line by his achilles tendon where he missed a spot, as if taking pleasure in the knowledge that Alfred was still very much male -- despite what his clothes would have him think. Not that it was hard to miss when his cock sat, poor and hard (had it ever gone soft?), against his belly. 

"Soon," Ivan promises him, and he means it even though Alfred really doesn't know if he can wait much longer. The entire world lays itself before him to either envy what he's accomplished or try to get a piece of it for themselves, everyone, everyone wants him and being denied the only one he wants too is going to tear him apart if Ivan doesn't hurry the hell up. 

So Ivan, taking polite notice of the urgency in his voice and his movements, skips the extra work and lines himself up. Alfred squirms like an eager puppy, the muscles on his abdomen contract and relax like gentle waves beneath pale skin that never gets to see the sun any more in this age of thick suits. Ivan thinks it a shame, considers just how marvelous he'd look tied up tight and tossed into the snow (Spring snow, not Winter snow, he doesn't want him _dead_ these days) and how he'd shiver and whimper for him and be so intensely grateful when he held him after. Maybe he'd be almost as grateful as he was now, as Ivan eased the head of his cock inside and whispered Russian curses under his breath.

Those muscles tensed again as Alfred let out an impressively relieved groan. He was still throbbing and red, still aching in every part of him but at least now he knew his real release would come soon enough, as promised.

Ivan swatted his thigh, catching his attention and watching with a raised eyebrow as Alfred wiped a line of saliva from the corner of his mouth and looked up at him. "Higher," He said with a nod. Alfred blinked, and Ivan pushed another thrust's worth inside, listening to the sweet cracking high notes that came from him then. "You are a woman," He reminded sternly, "Act like one."

"Oh, _Ivan_ ," Alfred practically squealed his pitch was so high, grinning, and his partner's teeth ground in sudden agitation -- taking a moment to just appreciate that Alfred had obeyed him at all was difficult. He decided instead to go ahead and start moving, in-out, in-out, not too fast but in a perfect rhythm, and in an instant Alfred was no longer sarcastic in his moaning. In the distance somewhere he lost one of his high heels, it fell onto the floor with a short thud and America felt like he was playing his part of a whore perfectly, like anyone he could pick up in Vegas on any given night and oh it was good.

That spot inside him was struck and his toes curled. Ivan leaned over him, stretching the muscles in Alfred's thighs to get a good look at him, watch his pupils dilate and that line of drool come back as he went faster, felt the ache in his own belly grow and turn into an itch to scratch, a need to be filled -- and judging by Alfred's open mouth and firm grip on the bedsheets he was there as well. He broke the illusion in Alfred's mind just a little when he grasped his cock in hand and gave it one, two swift pumps. Ivan watched experimentally, carefully trying to work around the lack of foreskin there and not overstretch the skin -- all the same his partner keened and moaned, voice high as he was ordered to keep it, legs spread wide to fit his role. Just when he bit his lip Ivan knew he was ready, stretched his legs to reach his full height and drove down into him, and those moans turned to _screams_.

There was a part of Ivan that couldn't help being smug when Alfred's eyes opened and he stared up at the ceiling like a dying man, mouth open, gasping as his cock shot again and again, far too much for a man who'd had his first just minutes before, until it covered his stomach and even his chest and collarbone in long lines of white. Ivan only sighed quietly as he hit his own release on the spot, his knees growing weak as he wobbled back to lay beside Alfred on the bed.

Alfred still shuddered as he sat up and felt Ivan's cum begin to pool beneath him. He willed himself to forget about it, knowing then that they were probably going to sleep long enough for it to dry anyway before curling up beside Ivan and putting on his high voice again. "You didn't use no condom -- oh Ivan," That earned him a look. "I don't know nothin' about birthin' no _babies_ ," he wailed, and Ivan, trying not to laugh, reclined where he was and fumbled for a cigarette.

"Now that..." He muttered. "Is too far."


End file.
